


i know you don't love me (but still i burn for you)

by Patcho418



Category: RWBY
Genre: Ex Sex, F/F, Foreplay, Formalwear, Lots and lots of foreplay, Schnee Week, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, in which Cinder and Winter attended Atlas together and were very much crushing on each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:22:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29142927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patcho418/pseuds/Patcho418
Summary: There had even been a time where she’d wanted someone else, someone she knew she shouldn’t be with. So much of her record at Atlas had been marked by perfection, obedience, and an impersonality she’d carried with her into her career, but she can’t deny there had been momentary fantasies she’d barely indulged about Cinder Fall.*Winter hardly parses that perhaps she might just be participating in another one of Cinder’s games; the thought hardly even crosses her mind by the time she gives in to the thrill of this vigilant pursuit.*She shudders at the words, at the connotations of them. Everything about her tonight feels calculated, manufactured to stir memories in her mind and flesh about what they’d had, what Winter dreams they’d had, and it’s hard to deny how well it might all be working.
Relationships: Cinder Fall/Winter Schnee
Comments: 16
Kudos: 39





	i know you don't love me (but still i burn for you)

“Finally,” General Ironwood addresses the assembly, “I would like to congratulate Winter Schnee on her promotion to the rank of Specialist.”

The audience applauds as Ironwood turns to where Winter’s seated, and as much as she tries to maintain her professional demeanour, she can’t help but let a slight smirk tug at the corner of her mouth, pride flowing through her as she stands. From beside her, she hears Marrow mutter a quick ‘congratulations, Winter’, and perhaps she lets her pride shine a bit more in her expression as she walks towards the stage front. 

Ironwood greets her with a warm smile and an outstretched hand that Winter takes with her own; his other hand holds a rank medal that he holds between them, the usual pose for photos taken at these events, and they both turn their heads at once to the photographer as she takes several quick photos. 

Once the photographer has lifted away from her camera, Ironwood’s attention falls back to Winter as he pins the medal to her chest. “You’ve earned this, Specialist Schnee.”

“Thank you, General,” Winter says before stepping back, saluting, and returning to her seat with an apparent lift in her step.

Years of dedicated service have brought Winter here, to the position she’s been dreaming of since her very first days at the academy. She’s always craved the privilege of serving at such a high rank, wanted the validation for her tireless work and diligent service. This medal carries an even more immense weight than the one that sits upon her chest; by all accounts, this has been everything she’s wanted since joining the military.

Which is to say, really, that all of her other wants have fallen secondary to this.

It’s not as though Winter hasn’t wanted other things, of course; she’s just gotten very good at ignoring those wants. She could have pursued fleeting interests in mundane hobbies such as art, but knowing it would contribute nothing to her training she’d let her interest fall to the wayside. 

There had even been a time where she’d wanted someone else, someone she knew she shouldn’t be with. So much of her record at Atlas had been marked by perfection, obedience, and an impersonality she’d carried with her into her career, but she can’t deny there had been momentary fantasies she’d barely indulged about Cinder Fall.

Winter’s record was marked by perfection; Cinder’s was marked by sloppiness, tardiness, a creased uniform and a messy head of dark hair.

Winter’s record was marked by obedience; Cinder’s was marked by a complete disregard for rules, flippantly pursuing her own interests whenever it suited her.

Winter’s record was marked by impersonality; Cinder’s...well, Cinder was just as aloof, but she held herself close to those that sparked her interest, pried for any fragment of another she could grab while keeping herself locked away, a mystery hidden behind a fiery gaze and a tilted smirk.

Winter had wanted to see what the reason for that smirk was for the years they knew each other, and so she’d pursued her with the same dedication she’d pursued the medal currently adorning her uniform. She’d been coy about it, of course - Cinder was standoffish even at the best of times, and Winter knew if she were ever to figure out what she was doing it would end in surefire humiliation - and from there they’d built a tense relationship on the foundations of mistrust and driven by the desire to figure the other out.

But it had grown beyond that, and for a while Winter had forgotten she’d wanted anything else more than a life with Cinder. Sparring sessions became a game, each strike of Winter’s sword sending the ball into Cinder’s court, and each strike of Cinder’s blade returning the intrigue, both of them waiting to see who’d crack first. At the same time, they’d often stayed up late together under the guise of studying, though both knew their curiosity was anywhere else but their books. In that time, Winter had picked up on the details of Cinder Fall that many others let go unseen, like the faint cinnamon perfume she dressed her neck with, or the sultry gaze Cinder would regard her with when she’d catch Winter staring.

For a long time, Winter had wanted to know if Cinder had the same thoughts about her, if she’d spent long nights imagining the taste of her lips, the heat of her skin against hers, the shameful thrill of her hot breath between her legs.

Winter had wanted, but she couldn’t want forever, not when Cinder abandoned her training for selfish goals and a futile pursuit of power. Cinder had wanted to leave, and she’d wanted Winter to leave with her, but all Winter had wanted was for them to stay at Atlas and complete their training.

Sometimes, wants are but futile dreams, and Winter hadn’t wanted the same since. From then on, it had all been about the medal on her chest and a future of service.

By the time Winter’s mind returns to the present, the ceremony is coming to a close and the crowd is moving away to the back of the hall for the reception and ball that always follows these events. She realizes this just in time to stand up and take in a cool breath, hoping to disperse the haze of conflicted memories she’d just shamefully indulged in, and yet the image of Cinder seems to stick in her mind, cloying and persistent with those fiery eyes hiding every answer to Winter’s curiosities.

Winter blinks, hoping that maybe the image will fade with a bit more effort, but Cinder still stares back at her with a devilish smirk, nestled between several other civilians in the crowd. She blinks again, and that ghost of a memory stays put, staring at her with a gaze that erodes the frosty layer she often masks herself with.

Winter’s throat bobs, her stomach churns, and she blinks again, hoping that, as her skin begins to flush with heat and the shadows of her mind burn away into flaking embers, this apparition will vanish.

Cinder stares directly at her, and suddenly her heart feels heavier than metal.

The moment Ironwood dismisses the huntsmen and huntresses on stage, Winter rushes into the crowd, her heart pounding in her chest with every desperate footfall, a steady but pushing tempo driving her towards the woman she thought she’d never see again. She hardly gives much thought to what she’ll say to her, and she hardly has to. She’s rehearsed the monologue enough times in the quiet of her bedroom, imagining the look of envy plastered to Cinder’s face as Winter relishes in her achievements, or the shame swimming in her eyes when Winter confesses to having moved on, to not needing her anymore.

She hardly remembers the monologue for when Cinder’s eyes turned hungry in her mind’s eye, though maybe the way she’d fucked herself to sleep after that scenario turned it all into a forgettable haze.

When she reaches Cinder, she’s standing at the banquet table, a cup of punch in one hand while the other reaches up to her collarbone, her fingers barely touching the dark sheer of her dress. Winter stops, and her eyes follow the black dress that falls against Cinder’s chest and lets out into a draping skirt against the floor; her sleeves are sheer, offering Winter a glimpse at her toned arms, and she can just barely catch the skin of her back before Cinder turns to her.

“Winter,” she greets in a low hum, one she probably thinks sends a shiver down Winter’s spine (and it does, she’s hardly denying that, and doing an even worse job of hiding it). “Or, rather, should I say ‘Specialist Schnee’. Congratulations.”

“What are you doing here?” Winter finally musters, though the words come out far weaker than she intends; what a perfect way to begin her career as a Specialist, she laments to herself.

Cinder rolls her shoulders - now she _must_ know she’s doing it on purpose! - and flashes Winter an innocent pout. “Just getting some punch. My mouth’s about as dry as that ceremony was.”

Winter grunts indignantly as she takes a step forward, ready to challenge Cinder. She’s clearly up to something, Winter reckons, or she wouldn’t be here - a wanted woman in Mistral, no less - telling such bold-faced lies about her purposes.

It’s not like people wouldn’t recognize the _name_ Cinder Fall, even though her hair has grown and her features have matured. The Cinder that attended Atlas Academy was a fiery mess, her hair licking up like loose flames from her head, a heat sparking in her voice that matched the one in her gaze. The woman standing before her is cool, simmering, her raven hair tucked over one shoulder and leaving the other so distractingly bare. Winter wonders if this is even the same woman who’d left years ago to pursue power in her own selfish way, or if her motives have matured along with her physique.

She could notify the guards or her colleagues. She could take her in herself. It’s not as though the notion isn’t rattling in her mind as they stare each other down, each of them sizing the other up. She watches for any twitches of movement, any dart of her eyes to unravel her ulterior motive, but Cinder remains stony, cool, everything that Winter tries to keep about herself even as she feels that icy mask beginning to melt away.

Finally, Cinder cedes with a sigh. “I heard about your promotion, and I wanted to be here to congratulate you.”

“Lies,” Winter accuses with a spark to her tone.

Cinder quirks an eyebrow as her black lips pull into a bemused smirk. “Why would I lie to you?”

Winter scoffs. “Why _wouldn’t_ you lie to me?” She takes another step forward, and it’d be so easy to have her escorted from the reception, but she stays her hand and tries to find some reason to rationalize why she doesn’t. “You’re up to something. You’d never return to Atlas otherwise.”

Cinder’s smirk falls, and she regards Winter with a familiarly scrutinous stare. Winter almost recoils from her gaze, knowing the way Cinder always searches, always pries, always tries to find what she wants from others. There’s too much Winter’s hidden away for her to find, and so she braces herself.

“You’re right,” Cinder murmurs abruptly. “I am up to something.”

Finally, the truth is out, and Winter is all the more tense for it.

“And what is it that you’re up to?”

“I’m not going to tell you that,” Cinder responds with a sly shrug.

Winter’s fists tighten. “I’ll have you removed from the premises.”

“No you won’t,” Cinder challenges confidently, “but I’ll be around if you want to try and figure it out for yourself.” She readjusts her fingers around her cup and brings it up to her lips, her eyes still training on Winter as she finishes her drink. As she sets her cup down, her gaze remains set and she licks her top lip with a deliberate, slow glide that once again rattles Winter’s body and sets her nerves alight with what she calls frustration but knows is likely something else.

“I’ll see you around,” she purls before stepping away. Winter watches her move through the crowd, her jaw setting as her focus splits between tracking Cinder through the reception and pushing that damn blush back under its frosty mask

There’s enough of a night left for Winter to set her sights primarily on Cinder, despite the few times she knows she’ll have to stop and receive congratulations from her colleagues and superiors. It hardly seems like such an important affair, though, when Cinder Fall is traipsing around the place, likely plotting some dastardly scheme she’s only let Winter know about.

It’s a game to her, and Cinder knows that. Cinder has always been about the games, finding ways to play with those who catch her attention, grabbing every piece and risking every gamble in order to win. Winter had been unfortunate enough to end up an unwilling player years ago, but it wasn’t a game she was going to simply admit defeat to. She’d played her side well enough, keeping herself locked away from Cinder’s prying eyes as she dug further into the smoldering embers Cinder had smothered so much of herself in.

Winter hardly parses that perhaps she might just be participating in another one of Cinder’s games; the thought hardly even crosses her mind by the time she gives in to the thrill of this vigilant pursuit.

Round one, and Winter unfortunately has to cede it to Cinder when she spots her in the middle of a conversation with several of her colleagues commenting on each others’ promotions. It’s idle small-talk that Winter’s not the biggest fan of, but the many parties she’d been forced to attend in her youth gave her the necessary tools to navigate them.

She catches Cinder sneaking off through one of the side halls and almost makes a fool of herself when she rushes off with a quick “excuse me” to pursue her, swinging the doors wide open and expecting to catch her in some heinous act-

-only to find her, of course, waiting outside the private restrooms, her clutch open as the makeup products clatter around inside. She looks up at Winter with a curious glance, one eyebrow raised, and Winter clears her throat and steps back out into the hall.

There’s nothing suspicious about waiting to fix up your makeup, Winter supposes, though she does entertain the possibility she’s hidden something dastardly in her lipstick and that its danger is anything other than how good that dark colour looks on her.

Round two is another one Cinder wins, though only because she’s so good at wearing suspicion in every smirk and every glance. It’s when Winter’s mentally picking at some of the hors d’oeuvres along the serving table, curious as to which ones on the appetizer table will actually be decent and which ones her colleagues regret mixing with the champagne she’s so far avoided - if not to keep her senses sharp and her mind clear, then at least to maintain her streak of fifteen years not touching a drink.

She spots Cinder not too far away whispering into the ear of one of the student attendants, his eyes darting several times over to Winter with a suspicious look matching Cinder’s far too obviously.

Winter’s almost ready to march over and unravel Cinder’s entire plan right there and then, and when the attendant slinks away she follows through. She stands before Cinder, sizing her up (and certainly not checking her out) before the wordless interrogation begins again, searching for every tic she knows Cinder hides her lies behind. The prolonged eye contact she keeps so as to put up a challenging front, the curl of her lip into a confrontational snarl, and yet here she picks up on none of it.

It makes all the more sense why Cinder’s expression is a smarmy grin rather than a contentious snarl, though, when the attendant promptly returns with a ring of shrimp and sauce for the table, though not before Cinder can pick one off the tray and twirl it smugly between her fingers.

A moment of taut silence stretches between them before Cinder explains the obvious: “They were out of shrimp. Care for one?”

“I don’t like shrimp,” Winter rejects harshly. It’s a lie. She loves shrimp, but she’s not giving Cinder the satisfaction.

Round three comes at around the same time as the string quartet General Ironwood’s hired for the remainder of the evening (though it doesn’t surprise Winter that he isn’t around to hear them play; he’s never been too fond of parties, and at this point she’s almost glad he’s not here to see her failing so miserably to catch Cinder Fall).

By now, the civilians are expecting the dance floor to open up to fill the remaining few hours with some light entertainment, and her colleagues are more than excited to partake. Winter, instead, skirts the dance floor as they dance and laugh and remain oblivious to what she’s sure is a very certain danger they’re all in. She scans the sea of waltzing pairs, eyes darting between white uniforms and gaudy outfits to try and spot the unfairly sleek, figure-flaunting, leg-showing black dress that should so easily stand out and leaves very little to Winter’s repressed imagination.

She finally spots her speaking to one of the two violinists, hip jutted confidently as her hand plays with the faint cowlicks in her hair. She’s quick to turn on her heel but doesn’t make it very far when Cinder turns away from the string quartet with what Winter can only describe as the most sincere smile she’s seen her wear all night (though it doesn’t last long; the moment she sees Winter, it morphs into something far more wicked).

The notes that ring out from the quartet are familiar and pull at a string in Winter’s heart she’d long thought snipped and burned away. Her pace lulls into a cautious stop and she listens attentively to the melody that plays in the air, finding the rise and fall of the beautiful music to be a momentary distraction, then comfort, and finally affront she can’t help but feel stung by.

The ghost of Cinder’s hand on her shoulder, the other stiff in her own anxious hold, comes with the notes of the song. She’d taught Cinder to dance ahead of an academy ball years ago, and the buzz of that touch had stayed with her even after they let go of each other for the evening, standing closer than they ever had and trying to unravel just what it was that was keeping them so close.

Cinder closes the distance between them and snakes her arms behind her neck, just barely brushing the loose hairs that fall against her knuckles. Her touch is heavy, _deliberate,_ and it easily draws a shudder from Winter as the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Winter notes the smell of cinnamon when her face and neck close in against Winter’s collar, and it’s far too familiar for her to ignore. 

“You remember this one, Winter?” she inquires confidently, playing with the loose hairs at the bottom of her hairline. “The boys over there were nice enough to take a request.”

Winter shudders at the words, at the connotations of them. Everything about her tonight feels calculated, manufactured to stir memories in her mind and flesh about what they’d had, what Winter _dreams_ they’d had, and it’s hard to deny how well it might all be working.

Still, she tries to compose herself with a sharp inhale, but it’s of no use when Cinder cranes her head slightly, her lips pulling into a devilish smirk. It’s hard enough not to peel her eyes away from Cinder’s exposed leg as she draws it forward, between them, inches from gliding against her own, but that look is enough to do it, and Winter loathes the blush the smile earns.

“It’s been a while since we’ve been so close, wouldn’t you say?” Cinder purrs, her voice hot and low, her words a whispered, daring secret between just the two of them, a history written in quiet nights poring over study materials and in clandestine meetings where they shared so many ‘almosts’. 

Winter presses her lips together as she tries not to let those words get to her. “It certainly has. I never suspected I’d see you here again. You made it very clear Atlas was no home to you.”

Cinder hums thoughtfully and leans closer with a sultry glower. “You’re supposed to put your hand on my waist.”

Winter acquiesces with an indignant huff as she gingerly places her hands on Cinder’s waist; immediately, Cinder’s expression changes, softening as she seems to relish in the contact, before she shifts in Winter’s hold so that her hands glide just a little bit lower for the briefest of moments, the almost-bare skin of her back flush against her fingertips.

Winter immediately pulls back and settles her hand where she’d put it in the first place. “You know,” Winter begins, “you’re lucky I’m the only person who’s recognized you so far. Anyone else would have had you thrown out immediately.”

“Or maybe you’re the only person who’s looked at me long enough to notice,” Cinder muses, and it’s enough to make Winter look away as her cheeks burn even hotter. “I’m flattered, though, that you’re letting me stay at all.”

“Don’t be. I can still have you out of here whenever I want,” Winter grumbles, but it’s hard to really keep her composure when Cinder’s arms coil tighter behind her neck, bringing their faces close enough for the tips of their noses to brush. Despite the ways Cinder has changed since she left, she can’t help but notice all the same details she’d once held so dear. The fiery rings of orange in her eyes that had always burned with righteous passion now sizzle with something entirely different, and yet she can’t help but fall back into them like she’d done so many times before. Winter’s always been so cool, so frosty, and Cinder’s warmth was always a welcome change; now, with her breath so warm against her cheeks and lips and that smell of cinnamon so strong, so alluring, she wonders just how much she really had missed her all this time.

“Whenever you want? So why haven’t you gotten rid of me yet?” Cinder murmurs. “Do I just look that nice tonight? I picked it out just for you.”

“Could you not have chosen anything more... _appropriate?_ ”

Cinder rolls her eyes and dips forward, brushing her leg against Winter’s as she tightens her grip on her waist, keeping her held up; the small laugh that plays from Cinder lips keys her in to her intentions, and Winter can’t help but reprimand herself mentally for falling for such a ploy. 

“Are you sure you don't like it?” Cinder asks. “You’re practically drooling, darling. It’s very unbecoming of you.”

Winter blinks away the haze; Cinder is _not_ supposed to be here, and she’s certainly _not_ supposed to be falling for her brazen flirtations like some hopeless romantic. “I’d at least like to know what you’re up to before I take you in,” she tries threateningly, but it only garners a bemused laugh from Cinder.

“That’s it? Because I think you’ve spent the whole night following me because you miss our little games that much,” Cinder posits with a smugness in her dark gaze; Winter swallows the thick lump that grows in her throat at the sight of a Cinder she’s only ever imagined in hazy, shameful fantasies.

“No,” Winter contends thinly. 

“No?” Cinder coils closer, dipping low so that she’s looking up at Winter through dark lashes, her lips pressed into a pout, and Winter curls her fingers around her waist as she tries her best to slip away from the look. “So then you just miss _me?_ ”

“I-I want to know why you’re here tonight,” Winter stammers, her frail veneer of control finally cracking, the embers of Cinder’s voice licking away at what little coolness she’s retained to this point.

Cinder’s eyes train on her for what seems like a dream between them, languid and dizzying yet over sooner than she’d rather imagine. In the orange glow of her eyes, Winter finds that hunger that drives her so wild at night when all she wants is to chastise her or boast her own achievements. Metal bends and groans with heat, and the desires she’s prioritized for years almost melt when she falls into that blazing inferno, and yet she still wants to know how much of that fire she can take, how much she’ll let the flames lick at her skin until it burns her entirely away.

Winter still imagines how hot her breath would be between her legs, if the fire in her skin is enough to match the blaze she’s come to know as Cinder Fall, if it’s enough to burn away every suspicion and every regret and leave them in the ashes to start anew. She’d set fire to herself to see if these feelings were more than just fleeting, deeper than just the carnal desires of her skin.

She feels the gentle scrape of Cinder’s thumbnail against the shell of her ear, and Winter shudders. “I think you’ll like it.” She doesn’t need to reinforce her point, doesn’t need to contextualize the request. They share that idea between them, if the look in her eyes is any indication of what her real goal here tonight is.

And if she’s wrong, she has plenty of monologues to fall back on.

Cinder’s smile is wide, wicked, and she slinks away from Winter. “If you want to know, give me a minute then follow me.”

Winter watches her again as she leaves, this time tranced by the deliberate sway of her hips for a moment that she desperately hopes no one catches. Cinder makes her way to one of the side doors in the hall, somehow still just as elusive despite being the reason for the stinging red blush that clings to Winter’s cheeks, an obvious sight amongst the blues and white of her uniform and dyed hair.

She crosses her arms over her chest and spends the minute Cinder gave her trying to parse her own thoughts as she lets her blush fizzle out. If she’s right - if Cinder’s proposing what Winter thinks she is - then it really is something she should be ashamed of, something she should have let go of years ago. 

Her breath hitches at the sights in her mind’s eye, images she’s reserved for herself in private moments, all while her heart hammers against her chest at the thought of getting to see them realized. She shouldn’t be wanting to see them realized, though, and she spends every second in that minute trying to hide the shaking breaths she exhales and the way she pinches at her arms to exorcise those beautiful ghosts from the corners of her mind.

Is she really going to follow Cinder into some side room for the chance to indulge in some fantasies she’s held onto since their days together at the academy?

Is she really going to risk everything she’s pursued and attained on this day for something she thought she’d long given up on pursuing despite the sparks that sizzle still in the red of her cheeks?

Is this really what she wants?

After what Winter’s foggy mind can only guess has been a minute, she turns on her heel and strides after her. Tonight seems to be a night of desires, after all, and she’d likely regret giving up what could be the only time she sees Cinder as anything other than an enemy.

She disregards the few glances that are directed towards her as she opens the door into one of the academy’s hallways; almost immediately after it closes behind her, she feels fingers curl around her own that pull her close. Winter hardly has a moment to react before she’s against one of the walls, hand pressed next to her head, and she stifles a surprised yelp as Cinder draws their faces closer. 

They’d been this close barely a minute ago on the dance floor, but now it feels even closer, more vulnerable. Her burning eyes bore straight through to Winter’s core, enveloping her in a heat that spreads through her body to the tips of her fingers that press against Cinder’s knuckles, and the strong aroma of her perfume overrides any last shred of reason Winter might still be clinging to.

What she could have imagined in her wild nights of shameful lust pales in comparison to the wicked hunger with which Cinder regards her, and just as metal bends under heat, so too does Winter. She pitches forward and takes Cinder’s lips to her own, hardly registering the tremor the frenzied kiss sends through her body - it’s drowned out well enough by different tremors of anticipation that have coursed through her these past few minutes.

Cinder’s lips taste just like the perfume she wears, a tingle of spice playing on her own tongue that sends her mind into spirals. It’s enough to make her press further into the kiss, tilting her own head to capture more of that sensation, while her fingers weave into Cinder’s dark hair and pull her in, too. Cinder moans breathily at the contact, and it’s all the more reason for Winter to demand more of the kiss. It’s a sound even her dizziest dreams could never have conjured, and she wants to hear it again, to write it into the ice that coats her skin and hope that the fire of this one night isn’t hot enough to melt it away.

Cinder presses her hand against the wall harder, squeezing her fingers and eliciting a similar gasp from Winter that brings a smile to her lips. “I like those sounds,” she murmurs against Winter’s hardly-parted lips, brushing close enough for her to feel just how breathless Cinder’s been left in just these few impassioned seconds.

A shaky sigh escapes Winter’s lips and she pulls Cinder back into the kiss, taking more of her in as she presses deeper. Her hand finds purchase in her voluminous hair, scraping her nails against her scalp as she leans into the release of years of repressed attraction.

She feels fingers at her waistband, and somehow that sensation in itself is enough to snap Winter from her lucid rapture. They’re still in this hallway, and it’s not like they’ve even locked the heavy swinging doors barely several meters from them.

“Wait,” Winter says abruptly, her voice just as low. She glances quickly between the doors and then back to Cinder, and as much as the thought of getting caught plays wildly in the rapid beats of her heart, the thought of being caught with _Cinder_ keeps her from delighting in this specific thrill just enough.

She looks past Cinder’s expectant expression and searches the hallway for anywhere that might work well to keep this encounter as clandestine as she’d like. Her eyes fall upon several doors, but a familiar one that reads ‘Private’ on the front catches her attention most of all. She grips Cinder by the wrist, an action that garners a small look of surprise that quickly melts into deadly attraction, and begins towards the nearby bathroom.

Winter quickly maneuvers Cinder inside, peering over her shoulders again as she dreads the thought that someone has already caught her with this dirty little secret of hers, but sighs in relief when she affirms they’ve successfully kept this affair out of sight. She slips into the bathroom and locks the door swiftly before she’s back up against the wall; this time, Cinder holds her immediately by the waist, and what hunger she may have displayed before shifts into something darker, something more demanding, and _gods_ if that look isn’t just turning Winter on even more.

Winter presses her legs together, hoping to do something to alleviate even just a bit of that pressing heat pooling between them, and Cinder instantly notices, her eyes quickly darting down below Winter’s beltline and dipping back up.

“Is that where you want me?” she rasps.

Winter’s fingers snare tighter in her hair; an airy “yes” is all that she can manage, and Cinder smiles infernally at her as she brings herself closer, pressing their bodies flush together. 

“Then be a good girl and do what I tell you.” Her fingers play against Winter’s waist, tucked under her tunic and drawing coarse lines against her shirt in a silent request Winter hardly needs to put words to. Even this, to Cinder, is a game, but it’s one of the few that Winter will play. “I want to see you undone.”

Shaking fingers work fast to unbutton her tunic before it falls to the ground in an unceremonious heap, the dull clang of medal lost under the layers of thick fabric. Cinder grins as Winter rushes to unbutton her shirt, too, and before she’s even had a chance to shrug it off Cinder’s already shifting it aside herself. 

“Hold still, lovely,” she orders, splaying her fingers against Winter’s collarbone as she takes in a sharp breath. “Let me look at you first.” 

Her eyes fall upon Winter’s near-bare chest, and she drags her finger down from Winter’s collarbone down between her breasts before taking her gaze again and pressing a far-too chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth that preludes the line of less chaste kisses she plants along her jaw and down the column of her throat, silent praises of ‘good girl’ and pressed against her skin between each kiss.

Winter’s legs press together again, desperate to find some kind of relief from the surge of desire coursing through her entire being, skin set ablaze in a way only Cinder could do to her even in the cold of Atlas that she’s taken in as a part of herself. Part of her thinks with enough time spent against Cinder’s lips, all of her could melt away, leaving only the parts of her that still can’t fathom how her dreams have played into reality so incredibly - and she hasn’t even given any attention to the part of her Winter needs her the most.

A gentle purr of laughter vibrates against her neck, and through the haze of the moment Winter can somehow feel Cinder smiling against her. “Relax, darling. You really want me to fuck you so bad it’s making you look stupid.”

Winter wants to protest, but anything she might have said is drowned out by a shaky moan evoked by Cinder’s mouth sucking her skin; Winter hardly feels where Cinder’s teeth graze her until she lets her go with a noisy pop and she feels her shoulder flush with heat and a satisfying sting as the blood rushes back to that spot.

Cinder pulls back slightly as her finger restarts its languid circuit along her chest, leaving a trail of raised skin in its wake and drawing Winter’s breaths from her lungs. “Keep making those sounds, lovely,” she purrs, “and I might just fuck you even sooner.”

“Cinder-”

“Not yet,” Cinder counters with that dark flash in her brilliant, fiery eyes. “I'm not done yet.”

Winter can hardly complain, especially when Cinder lowers herself back down to her chest and sucks at an untouched part of her chest, leaving another patch of dark red against its fair canvas. Her knees tremble as Cinder works away at the rest of her indignance, and she plants herself firmly against the door, gripping the frame for some stability even as the hand on her waist draws closer to where she craves her most, her nails grazing the waistband of her pants in such painful deliberation. Any other time, Winter might demand she get on with it, but right now she bathes in the bliss of everything she’s wanted diluted to a single moment she may never get again. 

She might as well cherish every fucking second and let Cinder draw it out as long as she wants. Somehow, she reckons, being at her mercy makes it even more arousing.

Finally, as if pitying how much of a rapture Winter’s in without even lifting a finger to her sex, Cinder comes around and begins to toy with the button on Winter’s trousers. Winter sucks in a harsh breath when she feels them against her stomach and she presses her eyes shut against the rush that courses through her, letting that breath out in a weak exhale as Cinder unfastens her trousers. Her fingers hook inside the waistband of her trousers and her underwear, dragging them both down to her thighs in a single, unhurried motion.

Cinder’s eyes trail down her body as she drags her fingers back up Winter’s naked thigh, taking her sweet time and clearly delighting in the way Winter’s falling apart so much under her spell. Winter knows just how horny she is without even having to touch herself, the effect of her own deep arousal wet against her upper thighs.

“Well you’re enjoying yourself,” Cinder says, just barely brushing her fingers between her legs and causing Winter’s hips to buck instinctually, “aren’t you?”

“Gods,” Winter breathes, “fuck yes.”

“How much do you want me?”

Winter takes in a sharp breath, already intoxicated by everything about Cinder and what she’s done to her before this moment. At this point, she swears she’d collapse if she couldn’t have her, and the tense curl of her fingers in Cinder’s hair and the impatient, needy whine she lets out say more than any words can.

Clearly, Cinder’s not done playing, and she brushes once again just inches from her dripping sex. “How do you want me?” 

Her other hand comes to the stray curl of white hair she keeps loose and weaves it around her finger, nudging her face forward as she tugs lightly. She comes to a stop opposite Cinder’s cheek, her breath warm against her ear.

“Do you want it rough?” she asks, hardly above a whisper. “Do you want me to fuck you senseless until your knees buckle and your vision goes white and you can’t even remember your own fucking name but you beg for _just_ a little bit more?”

Another brush, patient and cruel between her legs, and she highlights this suggestion by nipping her earlobe with a restrained boldness that Winter knows she’s craved before.

Cinder moves to the other side of Winter’s head and brings her lips to her other ear, brushing out the coil of stark white hair around her finger. “Or did you want me to love you? Hold you the way that makes your heart burst while I whisper sweet nothings about how beautiful your blue eyes have always been? Make all of those lonely nights worth something after all?”

Another brush, gentle and light, and she highlights this suggestion with a kiss far too gentle for this vulgar situation and yet not too gentle to bring Winter down from this harrowing bliss.

But Winter knows exactly what she wants, and with Cinder’s finger tormenting her with its deliberate circuit fraying what nerves she still has any control over she only finds herself wanting it more and more. Her eyes flutter open and she demands in a low voice: “I want you to eat me out.”

Cinder pulls back with a dark smile, letting the lock of white hair fall entirely from her hold and putting both her hands on the wall behind Winter, allowing her a moment of respite before she lowers herself in front of her. Her breath as hot against her sex - just like she’d imagined before - and Winter regards her through half-lidded eyes as she pauses barely inches from her.

If Cinder had been playing with coy patience before, now it seems as though she can hardly wait. She laps at Winter’s sex with a brazen hunger bolstered by the grip she holds on Winter’s thigh, and Winter’s mind spirals at this sensation. She hardly stifles the gasp that escapes her throat as Cinder eats her out with a burning fervor, and she can’t help the buck of her hips when her tongue finds her clit, sending a wave of immense pleasure coursing through her.

She certainly can’t help gritting her teeth when Cinder notices and begins to suck, earning another medley of sounds unfamiliar even to Winter herself. Her fingers reach to find purchase on the doorframe behind her, bracing herself as her head dizzies with the swirling arousal pooling in her core and causing her knees to go weak.

Cinder pleasures her in a way Winter could never even expect of herself, attentive to the small twitches and hitched breaths Winter broadcasts as signs of her own prowess before doubling down on what so clearly makes her come undone. If this is what Winter’s been missing all along, it’s not something she wants to give up anytime soon, and she grips Cinder’s hair tighter as if doing so will keep her in the moment longer.

She’s already close when Cinder’s fingers drag against the flush skin and tensed muscle of her thigh, leaving burning marks that burrow through her and only add to the insurmountably building orgasm. Between the ardent way she sucks her clit, the way her nails seer her already sweaty, white-hot skin, and the fragmented thoughts of just how tantalizingly inappropriate it is to be fucked in such a tantalizingly inappropriate place by Cinder Fall, Winter knows she can’t last much longer.

Winter comes with a hardly-strained moan of Cinder’s name, her vision going blank as her body is wracked with overwhelming ecstasy that leaves behind a wave of shivers and a glistening sheen of sweat over her skin. It’s intense in a way she’s so unused to, and she’s hardly able to keep any modicum of composure as her muscles tense and her eyes roll back with bliss. 

Cinder eases her through as she finds herself coming back into the moment, taking in shallow breaths that grow deeper as the bliss fizzles away. She gives herself a moment to wade through the haze and come back to herself, resting against the door so that her wobbling knees don’t have to support her on their own. Cinder stands back up, wiping at her chin before drawing her tongue across her fingers with a slyness that has Winter wondering if they should just stay here for the rest of the night and play out every little fantasy that she’s imagined before for them.

Instead, Winter’s head lulls back as her breaths even out before reaching to pull her underwear and trousers back up with a quickness that almost takes Cinder by surprise.

Still, she can’t shut this down completely without acknowledging Cinder, and so as she begins to button her shirt up again she offers a quiet, “Thank you. That was enjoyable.”

“Just enjoyable?” Cinder toys smugly.

“Yes,” Winter reaffirms, forcing herself through the lie as bits of herself come back through from her previous spell.

Cinder regards her with a slight confusion playing her expression, but it’s one she’s adept at hiding behind a sultry mask. She steps forward and sets Winter’s hands aside, finishing the job of dressing her, though not without leaning into the salaciousness of the situation. She finishes by adjusting Winter’s collar, stroking the stiff fabric with her thumb, and peering up into her eyes from under her dark lashes.

“Well, now, that had to at least have been more enjoyable than getting some cheap hunk of metal,” she purrs, her eyes barely drifting from Winter’s, and with a clearer mind she’s finally able to see just what kind of ruse this has all been.

Winter moves her hands aside and reaches down to pick her tunic up off the ground, dusting it off quickly before pulling it over her shoulders. “I’m not going with you.”

Cinder’s eyes darken, and she turns to fully face Winter. “What?”

Winter sighs as she finishes dressing herself, aligning the medal on her chest and inspecting it in the bathroom mirror to make sure it’s not damaged in any way after being so unceremoniously dropped to the tile floor to indulge in some fantasies she’d lusted for in moments of immature weakness and diluted focus.

Years ago, Winter may have followed Cinder after such an event, swayed by the promise of more enticing encounters like this one and more time to swim in the bliss afterwards.

Now, she has other things she wants, and unfortunately she wants those things just a bit more than the woman who broke her heart and left her with years of unresolved lust and bitter paranoia.

“I’ve worked hard to get where I am today, Cinder,” Winter says coldly. “I’m not giving that up over...over _this._ ”

The fire of Cinder’s eyes bore into her, but the mask of ice she’s built over the years hardly sizzles under its heat this time. “Over 'this'? You mean me going down on you hardly a minute ago was nothing to you? You were practically _begging_ me to fuck you, and now you’re just going to act like it was _nothing?”_

“I never said it was nothing.”

“Well are you just that disgusted by wanting me?” Cinder snarls. “What was this to you, Winter? What is _‘this’?_ Were you just curious? Wanted to know what you’d missed out on before going back to a life of service and sexual repression all to win some stupid medal and a meaningless title?”

“What was this to you, then, Cinder?” Winter challenges as she turns on her heel from the mirror, her own fire stoked by her accusations. “Did you actually come here to congratulate me on my achievements? Or were you simply trying to get what you want, as you always do?”

Cinder looks hurt, in a way where Winter’s not sure if she’ll lash out or skulk away until the moment her expression contorts into anger and her lips parts into a snarl. “That’s not it!”

“Then what is it? You can’t have only the parts of me you want, you know.” Winter’s fists tighten, but the words that leave her mouth don’t carry the same harshness. There are parts of her she wishes Cinder could love, but clearly those aren’t the right ones. They never have been. “If you want to be with me, you need to want to be with all of me. Is that what you really want?”

Cinder is still for a moment, quiet. She was never one to be easily rattled, so Winter’s sure she’s struck a nerve when Cinder’s gaze averts and her arms coil around her midsection.

“I don’t know,” she mutters in a weaker voice than Winter’s ever heard from her. “What do you want?”

Winter sighs. She’s had plenty of time to think about this, after all.

“I already have it,” she says coldly, glancing down to the medal that now weighs much heavier against her chest. “Now, I want you to leave.”

Cinder stares her down, but her gaze falls short of anything that could reach through the thick ice she’s put between them. Finally, Winter reckons, she’s won their petty game, and victory sits sickeningly in her stomach. She’d hardly call it a victory any other day. She might even come to regret it later.

Winter stands straight-backed when Cinder wordlessly leaves, hardly even stopping to fix her smeared lipstick, running mascara, or roused hair. With such an obvious indifference towards her own personal grooming, it’s hardly any wonder to Winter that she left Atlas behind to live a ruffian’s life, fruitlessly pursuing meaningless power.

Of course, Winter knows that’s only the Specialist in her speaking. The real Winter, the one that had pursued Cinder the entire night if only to entertain some veiled game of interest and mystique they’d played years ago; the one that had slipped away from her own promotion ceremony to satisfy some shameful lust she’d kept to herself in the years since; the one that had bit back the name Cinder Fall as she came undone from her, that’s the one that stares into the bathroom mirror and wishes she could want freely what she’d been forced to give up.

She’s not long for the party after that. She hardly realizes that she still keeps an eye out for Cinder when she returns to the hall, and breathes a sigh of relief before leaving when she doesn’t spot her (though relief might hardly be the right word, but it’s the one she’ll insist on using). 

That night, when she returns home with the memory of Cinder still on her lips and between her legs, Winter finds herself wanting again, and she falls asleep to the memory of what wanting had brought her, resisting the urge to play in those memories again and falling asleep with strained tears stinging her cold cheeks.

She wakes up the next morning to a shiny medal adorning her uniform, a cold chill against her skin, and the faintest memory of warmth she’d hoped to have cried away last night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading fam, hope y'all enjoyed !! As usual, lemme know what you think in the comments because comments are my favourite thing ever and I'm not gonna pretend they aren't (and also bc I still wanna work on getting better at smut and could always use some _constructive_ feedback) !!
> 
> Stay safe and happy Schneek (Schnee Week) !! <3


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